


Not Exactly Kubrick

by china_shop



Category: due South
Genre: Fic, M/M, PWP, Sextape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-23
Updated: 2010-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt was, "They watch the porn tape they made (double points for having them get it on while watching the tape)." I get double points.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Exactly Kubrick

**Author's Note:**

> For the Get Fraser Laid challenge. Many thanks to Sage for beta.

Fraser sat firmly in his seat on the couch—already embarrassed and they hadn't even started yet—and watched Ray hunt for the remote control.

"See," said Ray, his voice muffled by the cushions on the red chair, "we watch it, and when we get to a really hot bit, I am gonna suck you off."

"Mmm-hmm." Ray was wearing old sweatpants and a worn t-shirt that was fraying around the neck. His back was arched as he rifled through the magazines beside the chair. He looked charming.

"You'll be watching us do it," Ray continued. "So you can, you know, remember what it's like while at the same time I'm blowing you. A-ha!" He dug the remote out from behind his running shoes and flopped down beside Fraser.

"I think I get the picture," Fraser said. He put his hand on Ray's knee. "Although we could just have sex."

"Fraser!" Ray pushed his hand away. "No, stop it! Focus! Stick to the plan."

Fraser sighed inwardly, and stretched his arm along the back of the couch instead, so that Ray's neck was resting on Fraser's forearm. "I'm not sure I fully understand the point of the plan, Ray. Why are we doing this?"

Ray swiveled in his seat and stared earnestly at him. "Variety, Fraser. Variety is the spice of life—stops things getting stale."

Fraser looked at him sideways. "If it stops things getting stale then it's a preservative, not a—" He broke off when Ray narrowed his eyes and growled a warning. "Understood. I—that is, I wasn't aware we were getting stale." Fraser rubbed the far side of Ray's neck with his thumb.

Ray hummed a minute, arching into his touch, and then blinked for a second, apparently trying to rediscover his place in the conversation. "Stale. We're not. This is, uh, a preventative measure." He nudged his knee against Fraser's.

None of this made a great deal of sense. "But—"

Ray held up his fingers to silence him. "Shut up, Fraser. Humor me."

Their eyes met, and Fraser couldn't help but smile. "Of course," he murmured, and leaned over to kiss Ray. Ray met his lips for a brief moment, then squinted at the television and pressed PLAY on the remote control.

Fraser straightened up obediently—if reluctantly—and fixed his gaze on the screen.

There were a few seconds of gray fuzz, and then the cream-colored wall of their bedroom filled most of the picture, dazzlingly bright, with a few inches of rumpled black-blue bedspread along the bottom. Ray's fingers, suddenly and disturbingly gargantuan and orange, waved across the screen. The picture jerked, shuddered violently, and then stilled with much the same focus as it had had previously. "Okay," said Ray's voice through the television speakers, "I think I got it. Come on."

On the couch beside Fraser, the real Ray winced. "Jeez, I hate the sound of my voice. Hang on a sec." He fast-forwarded until a white-boxer-clad rear entered the left edge of the frame. "That's more like it."

Fraser tilted his head and watched Ray's hand roam over his own buttocks. Ray's hand looked almost black against the starkness of the cotton. He realized that he hadn't seen the shirt he was wearing in the tape for a number of days now. "Ray," he said, "have you done the laundry this week?"

Ray thumped him lightly on the arm. "Focus! Come on, look at that gorgeous butt, right there on the screen."

Fraser retrained his attention and watched in silence as his and Ray's respective groins began to thrust against each other in full vivid Technicolor but with unfortunately poor contrast. He shifted on the couch.

The voices on the television were emitting low hungry moans, and Fraser tried to get into the spirit of the occasion and focused on the triangle of Ray's back that was exposed by Fraser's hand snaking under the hem of his t-shirt. It merely made him want to turn to Ray and re-explore the real thing, smell him and taste him. But Ray was staring fixedly at the screen, his hand gripping his own thigh, and although he wasn't fully aroused nor did he seem entirely disinterested.

Fraser licked his lip and contemplated reversing the roles Ray had laid out in his plan: perhaps if _he_ were to—

"Watch the tape, Fraser," Ray ordered, without sparing him a glance.

Fraser started guiltily and turned back to the television set. The televised Ray and Fraser had fallen to the bed but were lying sideways across it. Due to the unfortunate placement of the camera, all that could be seen was Fraser's rear pushing down rhythmically. It looked unpleasantly large. Fraser closed his eyes for a moment and tried to expunge the image from his mind. He pictured Ray's hands instead. Happily, when he ventured to looked back at the screen, the hands in question were gripping Fraser's rear, tugging him down again and again.

Fraser cleared his throat. "I wonder where Diefenbaker's got to," he said, the words tumbling out of nowhere.

Ray sighed and looked across at him. "This isn't doing squat for you, huh?" He widened his knees. "C'mere."

Fraser blinked at him for a moment, then moved to kneel at Ray's feet, reaching for the loose waist of Ray's sweatpants. His mouth was already watering.

Ray swatted his hands away. "Nuh-huh." He tugged Fraser up and around, and sat him firmly on the couch in front of him.

Fraser leaned back gingerly, not wanting to squash Ray or obscure his view. Ray grabbed him and hugged him, dragging him back into an awkward slouch. One of Ray's hands slid down from Fraser's waist and covered his genitals, which had been unresponsive until now.

"Mmmm," said Fraser, and pushed up against Ray's palm through the denim.

"Yeah," Ray murmured in his ear. "That's it. Now watch the screen." His hand rubbed Fraser's crotch firmly, the pressure enough to capture Fraser's full attention. He let his eyes drift closed, and breathed in the scent of Ray all around him.

"Oh yeah," said Ray, leaning his rough chin against the side of Fraser's neck. "That's it—"

 _CLUNK!_ Fraser's eyes flew open, to see a screen full of greenish carpet and the leg of a wooden chair. "What happened?" he asked.

"You kicked the camera over, remember?" Ray's voice was halfway between exasperated and amused. His hand stopped moving.

Raised voices emanated from the television: "Set it upright." The picture lurched "No, not like—" The screen juddered and found the bed again, slightly off-center this time, with Ray lying on his back in only his shorts. At least, Fraser had to presume it was Ray, since the picture cut him off from his biceps up. "Yeah, that's it," said Ray's voice, satisfied. "Now—where were we?"

"I believe I was just about to fuck you," Fraser's voice replied, and Fraser went hot with embarrassment. He sounded ridiculous.

Behind him, Ray's breathing quickened.

The image of himself naked on the screen, reaching to strip off Ray's underwear seemed awkward and clumsy to Fraser's eye—regardless of the fact that Ray seemed to have an entirely different view of it—and it was with a sense of relief that Fraser saw the bed float upward until only the trembling bedspread and then the carpet were in view.

"Fuck," said Ray in Fraser's ear. "Cheap piece of junk tripod."

The harsh sounds of panting and moaning were strained through the speakers, rendering them tinny and unmoving to Fraser's ear. "We—we could—" he said now, and he started to twist around in Ray's arms.

"No," said Ray. "No, come on. Remember, we fixed that. I'll just—" His hand left Fraser's crotch and picked up the remote to fast forward, but before he could hit the button, the television emitted a sound like a moose in rut.

Fraser stared at the screen. "Good Lord! What was that?"

He could feel Ray grin against the side of his neck. "That's you, Fraser."

"Oh, dear." Automatically, Fraser scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail. "Poor Mrs. Belfry."

"I like it," said Ray, and licked the skin under Fraser's ear. "Like to make you lose control, come inside me—"

Fraser twisted sideways and met his lips, kissing him hard. He grasped Ray's bicep and was just about to push him back against the cushions of the couch when Ray broke the kiss. "The tape, Fraser."

It was an unusual singularity of purpose for Ray, and Fraser supposed he had to respect that, however frustrating it might be. He pressed one more deep wet kiss to Ray's mouth, and then turned back to the screen.

Ray fast forwarded. Carpet, carpet, carpet, an odd flurry of limbs, bare feet— Ray resumed playing the tape, and his tinny voice came through the speakers. "Yeah, just release it from the—Yeah, like that." The screen showed Fraser's flushed face in enormous close up, then blurred, the lampshade on the ceiling in fine detail, another blur, a jolt, dazzling bright light, the window frame, clothes strewn on the floor, and then Ray collapsed naked on the bed, his hand on his erect cock.

The picture settled—Fraser remembered he'd rested it on the dresser—and then zoomed in, but not on those long fingers and signs of arousal. A black shape crossed the picture—Fraser returning to the bed—and then, in the tighter frame, the contrast miraculously righted itself and what Fraser now saw was a perfect rendition of Ray's mouth, chin and throat. His chin was tilted as though his head was thrown back, his lips parted, and his Adam's apple moved convulsively as he swallowed. It was the most beautiful image Fraser had ever seen on a television. It was art. He stared, captivated, as Ray caught his lower lip between his white teeth—and then, a moment later, released it on a sob of pleasure.

Beside him, Ray muttered something about Kubrick. "Anything is fine," Fraser replied, absently, unable to tear his eyes or his attention from the image of Ray's pleasure. He was vividly aware that out of shot, further down Ray's body, Fraser was the cause of it—his mouth on Ray, sucking him. He could taste it now, the sweet-salty tang. This was how Ray had looked then—

Behind him, he was vaguely aware of Ray fumbling for the remote, and without looking, Fraser took it from Ray's fingers and instead put Ray's hand back on his crotch.

"You want me to touch you," Ray murmured in his ear, and he ran the heel of his hand along the length of Fraser's erection.

Fraser was too absorbed in the sight of Ray's mouth and throat to reply verbally, but he pushed up into Ray's hand.

"Jesus," said the Ray on the screen. His tongue wet his lips. "God, Fraser, yeah." The hollow of his throat gleamed with sweat.

Fraser grunted involuntarily and leaned back against Ray, feeling his body along his back, suddenly needing—He undid his belt, heedless of Ray's hand on his cock, and lifted up to push his jeans and underwear down. "Ray, please," he said, not taking his eyes from the screen. Those lips. The gleam of stubble on his chin.

"Anything," Ray told him, and reached again for his cock, naked now beneath the hem of his shirt. Fraser groaned—Lord, that was—but he wanted more than that. He kicked his jeans off ruthlessly, yanked his shirt over his head, and stood up just long enough to arrange himself kneeling over Ray's lap, still facing the television. It was awkward, but Ray caught his hips and steadied him, and then smoothed over Fraser's thighs, his rear. The sound of the lube bottle, and then Ray's wet thumb dipped into the cleft of Fraser's ass.

Fraser's breath hitched. "Yeah." And he pushed down on Ray's thumb. And then Ray was fumbling his sweatpants down, and pulling Fraser down onto him until they were joined, hot and aroused. Ray moaned on the screen, and behind him on the couch he swore and leaned against Fraser's back, scraping his teeth and licking the skin. Fraser lifted up a little and then sat back heavily, enclosing Ray fully, the sensation impossibly intimate as always.

Fraser's eyes began to close but he forced them open, still mesmerized by Ray on the screen, his breath coming hard and heavy. And now Ray's hand—his real hand—was on Fraser's cock, touching him, stroking, the familiar grip filling him with tension and dark arousal, and an emotion that made him tremble. "Oh, Ray, yes—"

"Jesus," Ray said behind him. "Jesus, so hot, so fucking—" His other hand gripped Fraser's thigh, leaving Fraser to manage the steady rocking, up and down, Ray deep inside him, then the tight slide out—nearly all the way, not too far—and in again, over and over. His thighs trembled with the effort.

On the television, Ray let out a cry and his chin rolled from side to side as though the pleasure were too much to bear. He shifted down somehow and then, oh, his face, his eyes. His eyes staring directly at Fraser through the screen, dark and overwhelmed. His face twisted. He pressed his lips together and shuddered. Coming. It was unmistakable. Fraser closed his eyes, remembering the weight and taste of Ray's cock in his mouth, the gratifying pulse of Ray's orgasm, and his own arousal mounted.

When he blinked his eyes open, the back of his own head filled the screen, moving as they kissed. Behind him, Ray swore and panted, smelling of sweat and musk. Ray's hand moved on Fraser's cock, faster and faster as Ray neared completion. Inside him. Around him. _Oh yes!_

It welled up in Fraser, too. He grabbed Ray's wrist and his own cock and pulled himself close. Ray's hand didn't falter in its quick movements, and Fraser cupped the head of his cock to his stomach and came, wrung from his head to the base of his spine, pulsing hot and wet between hand and stomach.

Ray's hand slowed, gentled. The rich scent of semen filled the air. Ray groaned low in his throat.

Fraser leaned forward and snagged his shirt from the floor, pulling off Ray in the process, and then cleaned himself perfunctorily. Enough so as not to make a mess of the couch.

"Fraser—" It was nearly a whimper. Fraser clambered off Ray's lap, and turned to see him mostly dressed, his shirt blotched with sweat, his erection upright and dark red above the pushed-down waistband of his sweatpants. Fraser shoved the coffee table aside with his knee, took Ray's hand and pulled him off the couch, and then kneeled on the rug, leaning over the seat where Ray had been sitting.

Ray understood—they knew each other so well. He kicked off his sweatpants and shucked off his t-shirt, and crowded up behind Fraser, entering him again, smooth and fast. A better angle. Pushing in, broken syllables falling from his mouth. Fraser's sated body glowed with satisfaction, and every thrust from Ray sent jolts of electric pleasure zinging through him. He braced himself on the couch and pushed back to meet Ray every time.

Finally Ray's hands slid from Fraser's hips across his chest and waist, and held him tight, plastering his sweaty body against Fraser's back, and he came inside him with a wordless groan.

When he'd caught his breath, Ray pulled out carefully, cleaning up with Fraser's already soiled shirt, and they sprawled on the floor in front of the couch.

The screen was gray with fuzz.

"Well, that—" Ray's voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat before he went on. "That was a wash. I mean, not this—" He patted Fraser's chest smugly. "Obviously. But the tape. Okay, but we can learn from our mistakes, right? We'll tape over it—try again."

Fraser caught his hand, and bit his knuckles lightly. "No."

"Come on, Fraser." Ray turned to him. "We can do better than that. I mean, like I said, I'm not Kubrick, but even I can—We just have to tighten the bolts on the tripod and adjust the—"

"Ray," Fraser interrupted, "I'm perfectly willing to make another tape—if you insist. But we're not taping over this one."

Ray stared at him for a moment, and then grinned. "Oh, we're not, huh? And here I thought you were just distracted by me touching you. You liked it—the tape, I mean."

Fraser bent and licked the hollow of Ray's throat as he'd wanted to when he'd seen it on the television screen. It was salty and musky, deeply gratifying. "Yes," he said, against the pulse point at the base of Ray's neck. A tape could never compete with the reality of this, but then, it didn't have to. The tape was a thing unto itself.

Fraser straightened up and kissed Ray, long and leisurely, teasing him with lips and tongue, until Ray cupped his neck and pulled him closer. Fraser rubbed his thumb over Ray's shoulder, and Ray hummed into his mouth, relaxed and sweaty—and Fraser determined to keep him occupied until all thoughts of mocking him had vanished from Ray's mind.


End file.
